


in between the lines

by flamingdongsaeng



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Childhood Friends, Fluff, M/M, Mark is an awkward fluffball, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slow Burn, Youngjae is literal sunshine, brief mentions of OT7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-05-09 08:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14712509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingdongsaeng/pseuds/flamingdongsaeng
Summary: It's about how Mark slowly begins to realize and understand the feelings he held for his childhood friend.





	1. Complexities

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy this two-shot (?) featuring our bois.
> 
> Follow me on Twitter(Although I'm not really active)!
> 
> https://twitter.com/flamingdongsaen
> 
> Please feel free to comment! Feedback is much appreciated! :)

Mark Tuan wishes that life is much simpler than what he perceives it to be. He imagines peering into the planet in top view, where a sphere, or an  _oblate spheroid,_ to be exact, is just a mere circle. People are just tiny, microscopic specks fluttering around in their platform. The Earth, just rotating slowly upon its axis: slow, steady, and constant. It’s like a petri dish full of already known bacteria, watching it grow into something already predicted by past records, to pry into the microscope in order to just  _observe_ , rather than to analyze. That’s what he wants life to be. He wants simplicity and order, not chaos and variability.

In equations, there are a lot of variables one can consider. Independent variables are ones you cannot absolutely control and dependent variables change according to your independent variable. In a way, Mark thinks compares this to a cause corresponding to a certain effect.

He feels sick to the stomach thinking about the future, about independent variables that he cannot absolutely control. It’s the uncertainty that bothers him the most, and the feeling of it is unsettling, heavy at the pit of his stomach, paralyzing him in place.

Mark would accept it if the cause of this existential crisis of his was because of _science_ or _philosophy_ or anything academic of the sort, but all of this thinking comes from a certain bright-eyed boy whose laugh is like aural sunshine: bright, piercing, and warm, whose voice is as vibrant as spring.

This is about sorting through his feelings for a certain Choi Youngjae; sorting it, and filing it deep inside the recesses of his brain. Choi Youngjae is the independent variable, and through all these complexities, are his feelings, which he cannot keep tabs of. His feelings that are like holding a pile of sand on the palms of his hands; rough, warm, an uncountable infinite. The minute he loosens his grip just a little – everything will pour out as relentlessly as the ocean that swallow them.

* * *

  


Mark stares at the blank spaces of his notebook, not bothering to take notes anymore. He hears strangers around him chattering in hushed voices, not at all perturbed by their math teacher blurting out equations that Mark had already memorized back in middle school when he was still in California. All he hears is a slurry of words blended together until it forms noise, genderless and meaningless in the way it buzzes through Mark’s ear and goes out unidentified by his brain in the other.

It’s the first day of school for Mark, ever since the big move back to Korea and he still hasn’t made any friends. Not that he needed friends, anyway. He was content with watching and observing the people around him, and he does not want to participate in it, in any way possible. Though he is already participating in it by  _actually_ being in the class, but Mark doesn’t let that fact get to him.

In fact, in the sea of unknown faces surrounding him, he already recognizes one of his classmates.  _Jackson_ he remembers, as his eyes focus on the shrewd rainbow of a head two seats diagonal from his own. He picks out random colors: red, blue, yellow, green, and pink. He stops at the color pink, as he realized that the color is not part of the seven colors of the spectrum.  _Color vomit_  of a head, he rectifies himself of the earlier description. He was memorable because he was the first one to be sent to the principal’s office for the term, as the school regulates students to have just one shade of color on their hair, apparently.

His internal monologue was startlingly disrupted by the sound of his teacher calling his name, and he floundered about momentarily like a fish removed from the water. He stands up, the screeching sound his chair grating at his ears and Mark tries not to flinch at the sound.

“What do we do next, Mr. Tuan?” His teacher inquires, with a smug look that clearly says  _I hope you learn your lesson and listen next time, boy_. With that, Mark feels indignant, and all he wants to do is to wipe that smirk off his teacher’s face.

He looks at the board, the numbers and symbols on the board starting to make sense to him as he searches for where they have stopped. He sees a quadratic equation equated to zero. He tries to factor them, but it just looks wrong to Mark.

“We use the quadratic equation to solve for the roots, sir.” He concludes.

“Correct. Using that the answer will be?”

“Positive-negative five, square root of two.”

 “Take your seat Mr. Tuan” The class just gapes at him and Mark feels hot in the ears at the attention his classmates are giving him,  _color vomit_ boy, included. He looks down, wanting nothing more than for the bell to ring, and get out of the room as fast as he can.

He vaguely thinks how thick his Taiwanese-American accent is against his teacher, although thinks nothing of it.

In the back of his mind, he wishes for his life to be as easy to solve as the problem on the board. He desires a universal equation to all the things that are left unanswered. An equation to the problem that is Choi Youngjae.

Thinking about the boy makes him nervous, as he has not seen or communicated with him in years. He taps his fingers listlessly on the table as a whirlwind of thoughts sweep him away. Is his smile the same? How does he sound like now? Does he still laugh like concentrated sunshine? How will he react when he sees Mark again?

Mark pulls out his phone discreetly, perusing the only message that isn’t from his parents.

Unknown Number: _Hi Mark-hyung! This is Choi Youngjae, do you remember me? Your friend from grade school? I got your number from my mom from your mom when they met at the market yesterday. I’m too shy to call but I really want to see you again… I heard that we will be going to the same school! My class is 1-B, what’s yours? :)_

He realizes that the number is still registered unknown on his device, and he edits the recipient and changing it to “Choi Youngjae”. When Mark got the message a few weeks ago, he panicked and dropped his phone on his face, and got too nervous to reply. He still hasn’t replied since, thinking it’s awkward and rude to respond to a message sent ages ago.

“Does he still remember saying he likes me?” Mark mutters to himself, feeling the anticipation building up inside him as he waited for the period to end.

* * *

  


Mark rushes out of the room the instant the bell rings to signal lunch time. He pushes past students, shoulders bumping into him and hearing incoherent noise from all directions. He looks at the top of each door he passes through and quietly counts:  _2-C, 2-B, 1-B, 3-A, 3-B, 3-A._ He stops at the unfamiliar room in front of him. Looking below, he sees a sea of green shoes which contrasts to his own blue ones. Mark feels like they are glowing with the way the underclassmen stare at him, like he’s some shiny new object they can play with, or some kind of animal they can ogle at, at the zoo. He fights down stares as he made his way to the door of 1-A. His courage falters instantly as he went into proximity and instead decides to take a peek inside.

Out of the approximately twenty-five people inside the room, he finds Youngjae in a matter of milliseconds. Rather, he _hears_ him. It’s the laugh that Mark remembers so dearly. It’s a lot deeper and richer, but it is still the beautiful sound that he kept dearly in his heart, recorded and replayed by memory. Mark’s heart flutters at hearing it again, alive against his chest and his breath hitching in the process.

 It’s just the back of his head, but he  _knows_ it is Youngjae. Youngjae turns for just a fraction in order for Mark to see his face, his eyes getting crinkly as he smiles. Mark imagines himself squinting, as he sees their younger selves again.  

He’s definitely happy to see Youngjae again, but he feels a sense of longing underneath of it all. Among the chattering students and in between the one classroom of space between them, he feels distant and alone.

Mark leans gingerly on the doorframe and he hears Youngjae laughing at some joke a taller guy is telling him. Another person drapes an arm around Youngjae’s shoulder, and Mark feels the discouraged at the sight. It is a feeling that he cannot put his finger on; it weighs heavy on his heart and he bristles at the thought of it.

Mark should have already known by now that Youngjae is not like him. He is sociable and friendly, which is a direct opposite of Mark’s uncooperative behavior. He’s obviously going to have a group of friends. He realizes, as he sees Youngjae interacting naturally with the environment that as Youngjae belongs to Mark, Youngjae also belongs to his friends and classmates. He should not take that away from him.

He wills himself to move, weaving himself back into the sea of students going for lunch, an easy wave of chatter dispersed throughout, and the sound of it is grating on Mark’s ears. Longing for some silence, he walks purposefully away from the crowd and heads towards the door leading to the rooftop. Earlier this morning, this was the first thing he looked for, as he felt that he would need to know where the rooftop was and that he would frequent the area. Mark looks at the worn out door with graffiti on it, a “Please like me back, Eunha,” and a “Fuck you Mr. Kim” written in black permanent marker scribbled on the sides.

It takes about 15 steps on the musty interior of the pathway, before he could see the brightness of the spring afternoon sun seeping through. Mark scrunches his nose at the smell of dampness, he compares to a dungeon of some sort. His footsteps reverberate, comforting Mark as if saying he’s almost there.

The anxiety building up inside him goes away as sunlight seemingly melts the feeling away from his skin. Stepping out, he sees the bright blue sky welcoming him. The soft breeze caressing his face calms him, and the sound of chatter muffled by his distance from them. Mark always had this penchant of separating himself from the crowd, thoroughly content with watching them from a distance, and his involvement with it unnerves him.

Mark finally found a spot with shade and plops down, closing his eyes and basking in the quietude of it all.

Thinking about it, Mark never really got a chance to socialize growing up. He was homeschooled throughout his short stay in Korea as well as in America. He never knew why his parents decided to come back to Korea again (some kind of business again or something) and it was unusual that his mother didn’t homeschool him again for the final year of high school education.

He kind of pities himself for not being able to play with other kids and expose himself of being with other people. He is already introverted in the first place, always keeping to himself, even to his parents. He does not to mind it, but he just never got the chance to normalize himself outside of his comfort zone, like some other introverted children who went to school and got a chance to be with others.

Mark snapped out of his reverie at something that poked on his left cheek. Realizing that it was indeed a finger, he jerks back, hitting his head against the wall he was leaning at. The mild shock of the impact made him groan loudly, pain radiating on the area.

“Hey! What are y-“Mark starts saying indignantly, but stops abruptly when he sees what looks like Youngjae looking down at him, his face painted with concern.

“Mark-hyung!” Youngjae says, his face too close than normal human interaction. “I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” Youngjae asks while nursing Mark’s head with his hands.

“I’m fine,” Mark manages to say, the words seemingly stuck on his throat at the sight of Youngjae up close.

“I’m really, really sorry, hyung… Does it hurt?” Youngjae apologizes again, his lower lip forming a pout. Mark finds this amusing, as some things never do change.

“I’m fine,” Mark says again.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Yes in does it hurt or yes that you’re fine?”

Mark almost rolls his eyes at that. Youngjae is as persistent as he remembers.

“You never changed, Youngjae,” Mark says quietly, smiling gently at Youngjae.

“Well, yeah,” Youngjae replies meekly, scratching the back of his head. “Six years isn’t that long.”

Mark only hums at that, looking back again at the bright sky.

“Have you eaten yet, hyung?” Youngjae plopped down next to him and opens his lunch box. Mark imagined rice and octopus shaped hotdogs, but instead, it was rice, side dish and some beef.

“I’m good,” Mark responds, not feeling particularly hungry.

“No, you’re going to eat, hyung,” Youngjae insists, pushing a pair of chopsticks to Mark. Mark takes them reluctantly, vaguely wondering why he has two pairs of chopsticks.

The two of them ended up sharing Youngjae’s lunch together, as well as a conversation. It was an easier conversation than what Mark expected, Youngjae with the questions and Mark supplementing the answers. Youngjae steered the conversation, sharing his own stories without any prompt.

“You know, hyung,” Youngjae starts saying, after sipping from his water bottle, “You haven’t changed as well.”

Mark looks at Youngjae, who is softly twirling a chopstick with his two fingers against the metal bento box. Mark fidgets at his seat, the topic of conversation suddenly brought to him.

“I mean,” Youngjae continues. “You still have this relaxing aura around you. I feel like I’m always looking up at the sky, which is weird, because we _are_ staring at it right now.”

“I’m sorry for being boring,” Mark says carefully, trying to make it come out as a joke. Mark had always been a quiet person, he is the type to only say something when it is necessary; a give and take, a force in an equal and opposite direction. Mark doesn’t want to sound bitter, because it is true, he can’t force himself to be sociable or funny, it is just not right if he tries to be.

“I didn’t mean it that way, hyung!” Youngjae protests, the outburst surprising Mark. Youngjae’s reaction felt like it was him who was offended by what Mark said.

“Not everyone needs to be loud or funny, hyung.” Youngjae just looks up at him, his eyes are a pool of brown that Mark could just drown in it. It is suffocating.

“I have always loved your quiet strength. The world needs more people like you,” Youngjae says.

Youngjae has always said things unabashedly, straightforwardly. It was the honesty of his words, and the way he said it like it was universal truth. Mark just stops to stare at him, incredulous yet not surprised.

Warmth crept through Mark like water seeping through the ground, through his whole body to the tips of his ears, and comes out pure and unadulterated.

Love, he says, and Mark just purses his lips, in an attempt to hide his smile and with it, his own.


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark and Youngjae get on with their daily lives. Something stirs up the sense of familiarity between them.  
> It's the calm before a storm (or a slight drizzle?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this long overdue chapter. This won't be 2 chapters, unfortunately. I wrote way too much to cram into the 2nd chapter.
> 
> Please leave comments, I need them feed my insecure self lol
> 
> Follow me on twitter: twitter.com/flamingdongsaen

The Fibonacci series of numbers in which each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. The simplest is the series 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, etc. Perhaps its complexity is why it is called the numbers of life, as it determines the shape of mollusk shells, the number of petals in a flower and surprisingly, birth rate.

Mark, at thirteen (which coincidentally is part of the simplest Fibonacci series), was asked to explain this to his tutor, and he told him simply that the resulting number is just the effect of the two preceding ones. Looking back, Mark now realizes that this still holds true – that in life, all of our succeeding actions are just the result of the previous, and all the memories created with people important to you just pile up: fonder and more affectionate in each instance.

* * *

 

The bell rings drearily, a clear reminder that makes Mark clean up his desk and rush out of the classroom. He notices on his peripheral vision that color vomit boy, Jackson, was looking at him with a mystified look on his face. Mark tries to make it seem like he did not see Jackson looking and makes a beeline towards his destination.

He never attempted to go Youngjae's classroom again, anxiously thinking about the crowd, the stares, and the impending disappointment. He walks purposefully towards what was his hideout for the past few weeks.

Mark has always been a person of routine, going through his daily life of doing the exact same things at the exact time. He feels safe knowing what to do next. He counts his constants: the last bell signaling the end of the day, the chain necklace his dad gave him on his 16th birthday, having breakfast at 6am, the smell of fresh morning air.

One of the new constants in his life is Youngjae. While Mark goes directly to the rooftop to enjoy his solitude, Youngjae never fails to come up around ten minutes later, wearing the exact smile that Mark adores so much. He contemplates about bringing his camera next time, hoping he could take a picture and keep a physical memory of it for as long as he can.

Mark decides that he can share his solitude with Youngjae.

“Mark-hyung!” Youngjae always calls out, and Mark would just smile with pursed lips, acknowledging the greeting.

Today was particularly warmer, the air thicker with the increase in temperature. Mark is once again propped against the wall, almost dozing off before the latter called him.

There is something in the way Youngjae calls his name. It was a field of dandelions, and the butterflies in the garden are in Mark’s stomach, fluttering and making him squirm.

“Hey,” Mark replies simply, gesturing for the younger to sit beside him. “Youngjae,” he continues, a slight pause in between, which felt like hours to Mark.

There is also something in the way Mark says the younger boy’s name, the two syllables that roll easily on his tongue, an effortless instinct, perhaps. Maybe it was with the way he keeps on practicing saying his name when they were apart. The sound of it just has a nice ring to Mark’s ears, and he repeats it, again and again, profusely resonating inside his mind.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you not eating with your friends?” Mark finally asks one day. It’s been something that bothered Mark one week into this routine they’ve developed into. “They look like they’ll want to eat lunch with you.”

“It’s okay,” Youngjae says absentmindedly, arranging his food and settling the containers on the cool cement floor. “Yugyeom and Bambam don’t mind at all. They’re my friends, but I don’t want to be a third wheel all the time.”

 “You mean…?” Mark asks, his voice trailing off as he let out a sigh of relief that he did not know he had.

“Yeah, they’ve been dating since middle school when Bambam migrated here. Do you…” Youngjae looks to Mark, momentarily stopping at what he was doing.

“Young people these days,” Mark only says, “Why don’t they focus on studying first, eh?” Youngjae laughs at that, a genuine one. Mark was glad he was able to dissipate the slight tension that he felt.

“Besides, I couldn’t just leave you alone to eat lunch all by yourself now, can I?” Youngjae pinches the sleeve of Mark’s uniform as he says it. Mark almost shivers from the proximity, the _almost_ of a physical touch, and his mind just races to imagine what would it _actually_ feel.

 He manages to look incredulously at Youngjae as if silently asking how the heck he knows Mark is going to eat by himself, and hoping Youngjae reads it as that, not those other things he thought of within the last twenty seconds.

“I  _know_ you will, and I also know you haven’t talked to a single soul before me, right?” Mark just nods and thinks about his recitation with the teacher a while ago but he settles to pursing his lips to avoid further arguments.

“Now, lunch.” Youngjae declares, and busies himself once again with the cutlery. He hands Mark the pair of chopsticks that he always uses, and almost grazes his hands with his own. Mark, if for some reason, does not know if he wants it to be deliberate next time.

* * *

 

“…I like you, sunbae.”

Mark just stands, seemingly rooted on the spot, hopefully not gaping like a fish out of water at the person in front of him.

Everything seemed to happen in just a few seconds, he was just bolting out the door after fourth period, as per usual, when a girl went up to him and asked if they could talk for a moment. Surprised, he nodded without thinking and he was pulled away from the crowd of adolescents scampering for lunch.

No matter how Mark looked at her, she seemed unfamiliar to him. She was a tiny first year, not even reaching Mark’s chest. She was looking up at him, the angle making her eyes larger than they seemed to be. He wondered what on earth she could possibly want from him. Borrow notes? Extort money from him? She doesn’t seem to be the type to do those things.

_Oh._

Mark slowly realizes the weight of her words, its meaning sinking to him along with the sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach.

“Sunbae?” the girl asks, Mark did not listen to her when she told him her name. The tone was hesitant, even scared. Mark could feel the tension in the air as he was brought back to reality and was snapped out of his reverie.

“Why do you like me?” Mark blurts out, sounding a little bit harsh even in his own ears, and surprising himself with the evenness of his voice. In all honesty, all he wants to do is to buy some time to sort out his feelings regarding this.

He definitely isn’t annoyed, it is more of curiosity tinged with a bit of a feeling of being burdened with the weight of a confession.

“Um,” the girl fidgets, gripping the handles of her bag so hard that her knuckles were turning white. She has her bag placed in front of her, seeming and acting like a shield between them.

“I think you’re very cool, sunbae,” she mumbles and Mark only sighs at that. The girl does not even know him. This is what he could not get with confessions in television dramas, why would you ever confess to someone you don’t even know? Is the outward appearance all that matter to people these days? It was utterly and terribly shallow for Mark, and the frustration seeps through him slowly.

Before he could even respond, the both of them were interrupted by a loud sneeze behind Mark. It sounded like a foghorn, and the sound was awfully familiar. Mark turns around and sees Youngjae hiding behind an open door, wearing an awfully awkward expression.

Mark tries his best to keep himself from running away from the situation. What on earth does Youngjae think about all of this? Youngjae raises his hands for an attempted wave at Mark, but he falters and drops them on his sides.

Mark whips his head quickly back to the girl, and he sees Youngjae flinch on his peripheral vision.

“I see,” Mark responds simply and glances back at him. “Let’s go, Youngjae.” He saunters off, passing by Youngjae, who is still behind the door. He does a double take, but follows Mark anyway.

“Sunbae…”

The girl takes a step forward, and halts when Mark turns to look at her again.

“Please don’t follow us, and by the way, I am not interested,” Mark says, and continues his stride. Their footsteps sound louder than it actually sounds, and Mark wants nothing more than to leave the situation as quickly as possible.

“You could have been a lot gentler though, hyung…” A quiet voice comes up behind him, it was shy and contemplative, as if almost hesitating to say what he thinks about what had happened, but he says it nonetheless.

“What could I have said, Youngjae? I don’t like her and I don’t even remembered her name,” Mark explains, that was mostly the explanation without going any deeper. It’s an answer that simply skims the surface, but refrains from going deeper.

Mark slows down a little bit, for Youngjae to catch up with him. The younger only slows down as well in reaction to this. Mark sighs loudly and says in a pained voice, “Youngjae, please walk beside me, I want to talk to you properly.”

Youngjae reluctantly followed Mark’s pace, walking on his right side. It is somehow strange seeing Youngjae like this.

Thinking about it, the only time he saw Youngjae with a mood apart from happy was when they were children. Youngjae fell from his bike and was crying all the way home. Mark comforted him and held his hand while his mother applied the antiseptics.

He could not figure out why Youngjae was being like this now. He seemed upset at something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Studying his expression again, Youngjae seemed more upset than Mark initially had thought.

“I’m sorry,” Mark manages to say, stopping at the front of the door to the rooftop.

 Youngjae looks at him, bewildered. It seems like he did not expect Mark to say this.

“I think I did something to upset you. I’m sorry,” Mark says again.

“No!” Youngjae says, a little louder than necessary. “I was just thinking about the girl and what you said. That’s all…” Youngjae picks himself up right away and returns back to his cheerful, usual self. Mark just looks at him, surprised.

“You could’ve told her you liked somebody else,” Youngjae says, an answer to Mark’s question earlier, albeit a little late.

“There isn’t anybody I like! I couldn’t lie!” Mark bristles at the statement.

“It’s a white lie, there isn’t anything wrong with that, right?” Youngjae then starts to giggle uncontrollably.

It was a burst of brightness as they entered, the cold and musty air replaced with a fresh breeze that hit their faces almost instantly.

“What’s so funny?” Mark asks, indignant as he props at his usual spot on the rooftop.

“Nothing, it’s just that you’re too serious about this, hyung, it’s kind of stupid.”

“Hey! I’m still older than you. How can you call your hyung stupid?” Mark pretends to be hurt and mad, but in reality, he feels relieved that Youngjae is back to his usual self.

“How would you have handled it, Youngjae?” Mark asks in a sardonic manner, after a while. The breeze is gentle, and it almost makes him fall asleep.

Youngjae only hums in response. He scoots a little closer to Mark, their shoulders touching. The contact was in between layers of clothing, but Mark could feel his own heart race as he tried hard not to shy away from the contact.

Maybe Youngjae is still too young for this kind of thing. Perhaps the concept of love is still abstract to him, taking no form or shape in his mind. Mark oddly takes comfort in this fact, and the non-committal response is enough for now.

Mark leans a little bit more comfortably at Youngjae. He certainly doesn’t mind getting used to this. Youngjae starts to tell stories again, busying himself with his lunchbox at the same time.

Spring is almost over, and while summer is still in a few days, Mark could already sense the transition going on; the change in temperature and humidity, the days are getting a bit longer. He had always adored spring, being neither too hot nor too cold. Thinking about it. Mark have always remembered memories through the senses, and the bits and pieces of it bring nostalgia into his eyes and dissipates as a feeling of wistful longing. For him, this year’s spring was of inane and shapeless laughter, feathery clouds lazily moving weaving through blue tapestry, the smell of home cooked meals eaten on the rooftop, a confession, and the bright tenor of certain boy’s voice which Mark equates to a vibrant yellow hue.


	3. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark asks questions, and he gets the answers unexpectedly from a certain Jackson Wang. The answer crashes on to him like an avalanche.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> News flash: I'm still alive! A lot of things came up, so this got pushed back.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> I'm still very, very much active on twitter:
> 
> https://twitter.com/flamingdongsaen
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.

“Questions are never indiscreet, answers sometimes are.” – Oscar Wilde

Questions are perhaps the most important things we say in our lifetimes. Every discovery, revolution, solution and breakthrough started with a simple question. It was question after question that led to answers and even more questions that made mankind flourish through all these years.

Ultimately, the more questions you ask, the more answers you will get.

 

* * *

 

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. It is the absolutely satisfying feeling of going inside an air-conditioned room after a sweltering hot day. It is the relief of coming back home after a long holiday.

For Mark, it is mostly about forming routines and sticking to them, as he holds on to his habits as a way to assure himself that everything will be okay. He sits on a high chair in Chemistry class, and where most of his classmates have their feet dangling over the height, Mark’s is comfortably rested on the metal ledge.

“Partners, eh?” The blond-haired boy named Jackson says, wiggling his eyebrows at Mark and nudging his ribs with his elbow. One of the feet danglers is Jackson, Mark begrudgingly notes.

Mark just swats the unwanted elbow and grunts in displeasure at the action. Jackson Wang is one force to be reckoned with. The moment he decides he wants to be friends with someone, he will assert himself unto said person relentlessly.

Jackson isn’t bad, but Mark thinks no one truly is, depending on your standard of “bad”. He is a loudmouth like Youngjae, but for some reason, Youngjae is bearable, and Jackson, the difference is between night and day.

By the usual standard, Jackson is certainly popular; goofy, attractive, and wild in his own peculiar way. He is also very congenial in a way that makes Mark doubt his profile. No one is that friendly, and Mark imagines Jackson to be an axe-wielding murderer as a sideline.

Thinking about it, he thinks the main difference between him and Youngjae is the amount of confidence that they have and where it comes from.

Today, they are laboratory partners, and Mark feels the upcoming headache coming from one side of his head, coincidentally (or not) on the side where Jackson is at right now. In retrospect, Jackson wasn’t quite as bad as Mark thought he would be. They were acquaintances, as per Mark’s standards, and they were not quite friends yet.

“How do you propose we do this then?” Mark asks, not caring if Jackson finished what he was saying, as he didn’t listen to him anyways.

“Oh, the experiment?” Jackson says. “Don’t worry! Let’s do it however we want first. We can ask help from our friends if we mess up.”

“Okay,” Mark only says, although at the back of his mind, he thinks he doesn’t need help from anyone with this particular experiment.

It was after less than an hour that they finish with everything. It was Mark doing the experiment and Jackson finishing their write-up, with Mark dictating the answers and correcting Jackson’s spelling.

“You’re actually really smart!” Jackson stretches while loudly groaning, joints popping in the process. “I never thought I would finish a lab experiment without messing up.”

Jackson laughs loudly at his own comment, as usual while slapping Mark at the back. Mark only stares at him in response, never knowing how to take a compliment. Jackson’s laughter reminds him of Youngjae’s, the way it is open-mouthed and takes all the air in their lungs.

Jackson then alludes to comparing them to Bella and Edward from Twilight, re-enacting the scene, saying, “Prophase,” then looks at Mark, eyebrows wiggling. Mark wants to laugh so badly at this, imagining a muscular Bella in the form of Jackson Wang, but thinks better of it and plays it off as a meaningless and unentertained scoff.

Mark stops at this thought: _Why do I always compare people with him?_

It’s always been like this, Mark looking forward to end of fourth period to his, now Youngjae and Mark’s, _their_ routine. It’s the sort of longing that makes the experience of looking forward to something all the more worthwhile.

(Mark already misses Youngjae)

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, no matter how careful you are in the things that you do and how one lives their lives, the universe just finds a way to get you.

 “Come on, man!” Jackson said after fourth period. “My friends went outside with our teacher to get some materials for the next class…”

Mark only looked at him pointedly as if saying, “I should care, because?” to which Jackson only groaned louder.

“I don’t have anybody to eat lunch with!” Jackson exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air as if it’s the most absurd thing in the world.

“Do you really have to put exclamation points to every sentence you say?” Mark only sighs and decides to ignore him, making his way out already.

“Maaaaark,” Jackson whines. “Where do you go every day, though? I always see you dashing out like you have to go to the bathroom after fourth period…”

Mark almost says it’s none of his business where he goes to everyday, but thinks better of it and keeps his mouth shut.

“I go somewhere,” Mark says, keeping it short albeit a little vague. Jackson looks at him weirdly, and then changes to a sad expression a few seconds later. “What?”

“You don’t eat by yourself, do you?” Mark realizes that the look on Jackson’s face is of concern rather than sadness, and he instantly feels a little bit touched at the gesture.

“No, I don’t. Also, there’s nothing really wrong with eating by yourself. Well if you’ll excuse --”

“Who do you eat with, then?”

Mark heaves a loud sigh at this, pressing his fingers to his temples. “It’s a friend, okay?”

“All right.” Jackson says.

“Huh?”

“Let’s go,” Jackson continues and walks toward the door. “I want to meet your friend!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No.”

“Yes!”

One thing Mark learned about Jackson today is that he is one of the most stubborn people he ever met in his life. Also the most exhausting one yet.

“Just this time, please. I won’t tell anyone and I won’t come uninvited. I kind of know what you’re thinking, Mark.”

Mark does not want to hear what Jackson thinks he is thinking so he just nods, too tired to argue and too hungry to stand there any longer.

Jackson beams at him, and the smile makes Mark think he did something that he will regret in a lifetime as he leads the way outside.

 

* * *

 

Mark feels the onset of a full-blown migraine when he sits down his usual spot. Jackson beside him is just chatting away, without even verifying if his companion is listening to him. Mark vaguely notes that he is talking about the weather and how nice it is at the rooftop, when he hears footsteps coming from the passageway.

“Hyung!” Youngjae exclaims, still on the other side of the door, his loud voice muted slightly by the physical barrier between them. The door swings open and the widest smile greets both of them. Jackson stops talking at the sight of him.

“Jackson-sunbae!” He runs over to them, excited and immediately greets their guest like he was expecting him in the first place. Mark notes the honorific, feeling quite smug for some reason.

“So this is the elusive friend, eh?” Jackson says, wiggling his eyebrows, for what Mark thinks is the second time already today. Jackson should look good without those eyebrows, Mark thinks darkly.

Youngjae introduces himself to Jackson, bowing his head slightly. “You’re here to join us for lunch, sunbae?” he continues to ask.

“Yes, but I forgot to buy food since I was too busy convincing this guy to let me join you guys,” Jackson scratches the back of his head while jabbing a thumb at Mark.

“Wait, I’ll-“Jackson says, making a motion to leave, but was interrupted by Youngjae, pulling him back on his seat by the arm.

“My mom made a lot today, and it should be enough for the three of us, sunbae.” Youngjae says, unpacking his containers, showing them how much his mother had cooked for them. “Please sit down, the cafeteria should be very crowded right about now.”

It doesn’t take a lot of convincing for Jackson to sit back down, looking at Youngjae like a puppy wagging its tail.

“Hey, did you know you’re amazing?” Jackson says, sitting beside Youngjae now, making the latter blush in the process. The younger only shakes his head in bemusement.

“By the way,” Jackson continues from the earlier rhetoric, “how do you know me?”

Youngjae hums in contemplation at first and says, “You’re quite famous, sunbae. All the girls in my class talk about how good looking you are.”

Jackson laughs at this, visibly amused. “Nah, I’m just friends with everybody. No one should be left behind, right?”

Mark, listening in the sideline, thinks that Jackson knows how to brush off a compliment. It is a social skill that he cannot emulate in his lifetime.

“It’s true, you’re really approachable and nice,” Youngjae agrees.

“Hey, you’re such a sweet talker, Youngjae. It makes me want to treat you to dinner later!” Jackson exclaims, ruffling the younger’s hair.

Youngjae pats his hair down and bites the end of his chopstick in embarrassment.

Jackson then continues to coo at Youngjae and eat his lunch. Mark continues to stare at them, his irritation escalating. It took Jackson a little while to notice what was happening. 

“Mark, don’t stare at me like that. It’s a joke, okay?” Jackson suddenly says in a serious tone. Youngjae then turned to him, a mixture of confusion and concern painted across his face.

“Hyung, are you okay?” Youngjae shakes Mark’s knee.

“’M fine.” Mark only says curtly, unable to shake off the bristling feeling that has been growing inside him.

It is absolutely unfair to Jackson, but Mark thinks he really dislikes the guy for some reason. He’s pushy and acts overly familiar to everyone. It’s the kind of dishonest personality that does not seem real to Mark. Youngjae is an innocent guy, and he should not fall pray to Jackson's fox-like personality. Maybe it's his protective instinct kicking in, but he wants to keep Youngjae away from him.

“Really, hyung?” Mark only nods once and looks at Jackson, looking straight at him. It was the first time that Mark saw Jackson looking pensive, his eyes seemingly scanning his entirety, and it makes his skin crawl in discomfort. There's certainly more to Jackson than what meets the eye.

He looks like he knows everything; everything that Mark knows and does not know about yet. It is unsettling, to say the least.

 

* * *

 

“Mark!” Jackson shouts, running down the flight of stairs. “Hey, hey, hey, hey,” he says while taking steps, making his voice bend in pitch with each drop.

After that debacle earlier, Jackson easily distracted Youngjae by mentioning the food they shared and it seemed to dissipate the tension a little bit. The lightning in the air was reduced to mere static after that; it was not comfortable, but it was not uncomfortable either. Jackson and Youngjae seemed to fill in the spaces with words and topics they pulled from nowhere, which they both were good at, while Mark ate in awkward silence.

Mark does not know what got into him, but he really does not want to talk to Jackson right now. It was an irritation and awkwardness that Mark could not put a finger to, and he decided internally that ignoring Jackson was the best solution for now. It’s a flight or fight response, and Mark chooses to run away.

“Hey, wait up,” Jackson finally catches up to him and grabs him by the wrist.

“What?!” Mark exclaims, the word coming out a little too harshly, even to his own ears. He instantly wants to apologize but he ultimately decides not to.

Jackson seems unfazed by this, and just looks concerned.

“Dude, look. I'm really sorry about earlier." Mark instantly feels guilty about this but before he can respond, Jackson adds, "I’m not flirting with Youngjae, okay?”

“ _What the heck_?” Mark says, in English. Why would Jackson think of that in the first place?

Mark remembers that time where his math teacher was not teaching the correct concept and the confusion was just too much. Only now, he does not know how to react. Confusion is clearly an understatement.

Jackson seems taken aback by this, his eyes going wide.

“Don’t tell me…” he says, mostly to himself, but it is audible enough for Mark to hear.

Mark, at his wits' end already, was already preparing to scream at Jackson in frustration because of the confusion that he is causing him. He is taking a deep breath already but Jackson’s softly uttered words stopped him, and Mark thinks it’s the loudest question he heard him say so far. He hears is as clearly as the glass panels on the window reflecting the surrounding outside.

“You like that kid, right?”

 

* * *

 

The orange sky glares heavily at Mark the moment he steps out of the concrete premises of the school. Though the sun right now isn’t as offensively bright as it would be in the earlier hours of the day, he squints anyway, the earlier events of the day distracting him.

_“You like that kid, right?”_

He hears Jackson’s deep, raspy voice echoing, grating in his ears. Mark shakes his head, hoping he can shake away as well Jackson’s voice inside his head. It was an absurd question, but it was enough to bother him.

Walking home had always been something Mark cherished, taking the time to unpack the things inside his head and unravel knots of anxiety that he had throughout the day. After all the things he’s been through today, Mark needed this walk and the solitude never felt so comforting.

He breathes in deeply, taking one step at a time, and exhales through his mouth, imagining a black string of smoke escape his body. He now thinks about Jackson and what he said about him and Youngjae.

Mark trudges onward, passing by the old lady in the street selling apples and pears. He thinks mostly of Youngjae and just thinking about him made Mark look beside him, almost wishing Youngjae was there to break his solitude and just be _there_.

His breath hitches at this thought, almost akin to a drowning person gasping for oxygen, but weakly dismisses it to the pace at which he walks. It’s a question that has been bothering Mark for a long time now: _Why?_

_Why do I always look for him?_

In a sea of people, Mark would always look for Youngjae. Mark almost trips over the ledge of the pedestrian crossing, but he brushes it off, seemingly nonchalant.

_Why do I like seeing him laugh?_

When Youngjae laughs, Mark craves the sound of his laughter even more. But recently, Mark craves the sound of it, mixed with his. With each dry or quick-witted remark that Mark makes, he just wants to hear the sound of Youngjae’s breathy chuckles leave his lips. Mark just wants to watch the way Youngjae’s head tilts back in amusement, the way he never bothers to cover his mouth with his hand.

_Why do I like being by his side?_

He stops in front of his house, never realizing the time and distance because of this thoughts. It was right then and there that the realization hit him.

Mark thought before that love is comparable to the flicker of a light switch, a flicker of hormones that the body produces through instinct. That love is an overwhelming sensation, like a shock wave.

He realizes love can be as simple as just wanting to keep someone’s smile, someone’s bright laughter. Mark just wants nothing more to hold on to those and keep them forever.

Maybe it isn’t love yet, but he realizes that he likes Choi Youngjae.

In the usual situation, liking someone is the question, but in Mark Tuan’s case, it is the definitive and inevitable answer.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter:
> 
> https://twitter.com/flamingdongsaen
> 
> Again, feedback is always appreciated.


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